Year of release: 2018 Directed by Leena Pendharkar. Starring Vivian Kerr and Anthony Rapp.
In some ways, Scrap is an extended trailer, a hint of a feature film to come that will hopefully be equally thoughtful and compassionate. At the same time, as a twenty-minute short it functions well as a brief window into a couple days in the life of a homeless woman.
Beth, played by scriptwriter Vivian Kerr, lives out of her Prius while desperately driving to various job interviews in the LA area while hiding the state of her life from her brother Ben (Anthony Rapp) and her daughter Birdy (Skylar Hill) who has been staying with her uncle. Additionally, Beth travels from neighborhood to neighborhood to find a place to park her car and sleep in the back seat where she won’t be harassed.
Reasons for harassment include a vandal smashing her car window to take some of her possessions and threats to call the police under the assumption that she must be a prostitute. Those assumptions reflect the overwhelmingly disparaging view that many people take toward the homeless, concluding that they either deserve it or must be drug addicts, sex workers, or some other group of people often branded as “lesser.”
Indeed, Beth herself is not free from those prejudices, as she works diligently to make sure her daughter, her brother, and his wife do not find out about her living situation. Her own self-shame adds another layer of difficulty to her life, and the film is honest about how difficult it can be to overcome such prejudices, even when they affect one as directly as Beth.
How long Beth has been homeless and searching for a job while her daughter lives with her brother is unclear. The story presented in the film feels entirely like a middle act with more backstory and a subsequent act to come when it is adapted into a feature film later this year—hence my calling it an extended trailer above. It is still very effective, with that middle act tightly told, moving from introducing us to Beth to building tension in the job interviews and altercations to the final exchange with her brother.
In their brief amount of screen time Kerr and Rapp convincingly portray a supportive yet not entirely close brother and sister, both of whom care about one another but are unsure how much to ask of the other. There is a natural chemistry between Kerr and Rapp, which should translate smoothly into a longer version of this story.
Scrap succeeds both as a promise of that feature length version, but also on its own both as a means of raising awareness for the homeless and as a challenge to reexamine any prejudices that we may harbor toward them.
Year of release: 2019 Directed by Jordan Peele. Starring Lupita Nyong’o, Winston Duke, Shahadi Wright Joseph, Evan Alex, and Elisabeth Moss.
Vague spoiler warning
There is a piece by John Cage titled Credo in US. Whether Cage meant the last word of that title to be an emphatic declaration of me and you or an abbreviation of United States is deliberately ambiguous. Given the time he composed the piece and his own politics, it is quite possible that he intended a double meaning for the title.
I think Jordan Peele is attempting a similar wordplay and political commentary with his second feature, Us. I say think, because there are so many ideas in the film that it is difficult to know exactly what it is about, and there are enough twists to the story that more than one interpretation is possible.
One of the twists is particularly aggravating, because first of all, it’s obvious and something that any relatively knowledgeable viewer will be considering throughout the movie. It occurred to me as a possibility in the second scene. Secondly, that twist completely contradicts earlier scenes, making certain actions completely unbelievable. Finally, it undermines the entire story by suggesting several possible interpretations, which are ultimately meaningless, because it fails to change anything regarding who is inflicting the horror on whom.
One of the more credible interpretations of Us is that it is an indictment of capitalism’s dependency on classism and enslaving the working class. If that is the movie’s thesis, then the final twist makes sense since it seemingly implies the identity of two characters makes no difference, because they’ve been inevitably pitted against one another by capitalism’s economic injustice. However, if that is a correct interpretation, then it seriously undercuts the horror, because it retroactively makes it impossible to care about either character.
The characters themselves, excepting a few scenes of clichéd horror film stupidity, are wonderfully written and even better acted. Lupita Nyong’o is absolutely phenomenal as a nervous wife and mother, haunted by a nightmare she experienced at a fair as a little girl. In her second role as a sinister doppelgänger, she conveys the desperation from a lifetime of suffering and enslavement superbly. Winston Duke provides both comic relief and support as her husband, and Shahadi Wright Joseph and Evan Alex make an endearing pair of siblings.
The snobby white neighbors are far less interesting as characters, but as the mother of that family Elisabeth Moss creates a memorable and compelling version of a shallow, first-world white woman with first-world white-woman problems. She is an excellent foil to Nyong’o, especially when it seems that the film is going to be about the differences between white and black Americans and the ways that each is socially allowed to respond to threats and discomfort. After the plot goes around several sharp turns, her presence in the film makes less sense, but she still has some great scenes of unadulterated body horror.
One of those scenes involves a pair of scissors that will unquestionably be one of the most memorable film scenes of 2019, even if that scene has no explanation and seemingly serves the plot in no discernable way. I certainly have no objection to great scenes that have no dramatic purpose (flamethrower guitar in Mad Max: Fury Road, anyone?), but Us is laboring so hard to have a point or several in nearly every scene that the imagery comes across as baffling, because almost everything about the film is inviting comparison as some sort of allegory.
The opening title card references the underground network of railways that runs through much of America. The 1986 Hands Across America frames the film in a way that invites a cross-examination of the way our country has long functioned. References to the judgment in Jeremiah 11:11 appear throughout the movie. It is clear that the film wants to question and critique the network that much of the U.S. has been built on, but it’s not really clear what that critique is and whether its focus is racism, classism, materialism, or all of the above.
Us is a movie in which if you excerpted any individual scene, you would see excellent acting, skilled directing, good pacing, and a great atmosphere of tension skillfully infused with bits of comedy. And yet, the whole is distinctively less than the sum of its parts. Nonetheless, the parts are good enough that the film remains a fun and diverting ride as long as you don’t expect too much cohesion at the end.
Personal Recommendation: B-
Content advisory: Some gruesome violence and its aftermath, moments of horror and suspense, and occasional rough language. MPAA rating: R
Suggested Audience: Teens and up with discernment
Year of release: 2019 Directed by Sandra Winther.
The subtitle of Pope Francis’ encyclical Laudato si’ is “On care for our common home.” That entire phrase, but especially the last three words, are put into relief by Lowland Kids, a documentary short about the effects of climate change on Isle de Jean Charles, off the coast of Louisiana, and the inhabitants thereof.
In twenty minutes, director Sandra Winther introduces us to teenage siblings Juliette and Howard, shows us the beauty of the home they have known for most of their lives, and raises awareness for the necessity of relocation since the island will inevitably be flooded in the coming years due to rising oceans. Winther’s concise approach to the documentary allows her to convey a community that feels familiar by the film’s end, which makes the impending loss of their home more poignant.
Bird’s eye shots of Isle de Jean Charles alternate with boating trips and the teenagers strolling along the water to show the beauty of the island. These are contrasted with the destruction wrought by hurricanes, a reminder that one day the floods from the storms will not recede. Through the interviews, the inhabitants communicate a clear love for their home and express regret that Juliette and Howard will probably be the last kids to grow up there.
We learn that Juliette and Howard lost their parents at a young age, and they have been raised by their uncle with help from the tight-knit community of Isle de Jean Charles, where everyone is either friend or family—both of whom should help one another, and this community does. It is a beautiful example of the Catholic Church’s teaching on the principle of solidarity. That solidarity is what the teenagers know they will have to cling to when they move to a new home.
As discussion of relocating from Isle de Jean Charles emerges toward the end of the film, one man realizes that this will make them refugees, even as he admits it challenges his understanding of the word. At a time when other refugees have been in the news, it is an interesting word choice, but an accurate one that conveys the plight that comes from abandoning one’s home, regardless of the reason.
In Lowland Kids, that reason is climate change. Since the earth is our common home, not only should its care be all of our concern, but aiding anyone who finds themselves displaced should be as well. Lowland Kids does not function as an alarmist call to action, but more powerfully as a brief window of empathy into the life of an overlooked community imminently affected by climate change. Whether we respond as if we are members of that community as well is what the film invites us to consider.
Year of release: 2018 Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos. Starring Emma Stone, Rachel Weisz, Olivia Colman, Nicholas Hoult, and James Smith.
The first time I watched The Favourite, around thirty minutes into it, I gasped and turned to the friends I was watching it with, unable to believe what I was hearing and seeing. The compiled score had begun employing an organ piece, one that I knew and loved: “Jesus Accepts His Suffering” from La Nativité du Seigneur by Olivier Messiaen.
At this point in the plot, Queen Anne (Olivia Colman) had decided to attempt suicide, because her sufferings were beyond endurance since her favourite lady in waiting, the Duchess of Marlborough Sarah Churchill (Rachel Weisz), had left her alone for too long to run the state.
I cannot think of a more perfect musical commentary on the vanity, shallowness, and manipulative character of the Queen as portrayed here. It was at that moment that I knew I was going to love this film.
Given my past experiences with Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos, my love for The Favourite is surprising. Dogtooth remains one of the five worst films I’ve ever seen; I hated it so much I resolved to skip The Lobster until two friends said it was their favorite film of 2015. After hating that, I was going to skip The Killing of a Sacred Deer until I acquired a screener by chance, so I watched it, and while it was the first time that I thought Lanthimos allowed his absurdism to be a little bit playful, I still found the overarching misanthropy tiring.
However, The Favourite is different. For one thing the outside influences of screenwriters Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara mitigates Lanthimos’ tendency to bludgeon his morbid jokes to a point well beyond death. The historical setting also makes this much easier to swallow as a cautionary tale about the dangers of vanity and envy as depicted through the corruption of the early eighteenth-century British court.
The vanity of Queen Anne makes her a Lear-like figure, wanting to be loved but mistaking flattery for love. Her tragic arc mirrors his in a totally expected way. I even described this to a friend as King Lear retold as a dark comedy from the perspectives of Goneril and Regan. Here, those two characters are Lady Sarah Churchill (Weisz) and her cousin Abigail (Emma Stone).
The defining characteristic of envy, as distinct from jealousy, is the inability to be happy for another’s good fortune. As the two ladies in waiting vie for the favouritism of the Queen, they become obsessed with their own success to the point that the other becomes a threat who must be eliminated. It’s a backstabbing story that Rachel Weisz has fittingly compared to All About Eve.
Instead of being set in a dog-eat-dog world of show business, The Favourite ruthlessly critiques the political world of Queen Anne’s court for being the same. The historical basis for the film is the transfer of power in Parliament from the Whigs to the Tories toward the end of her reign. England’s two-party system emerged during Queen Anne’s reign, and the inevitable reality of a two-party political system is that one side’s success means the other’s misfortune. The envy between the two women plays out on a less personal and more political level between the leader of the Whigs, Lord Godolphin (James Smith), and the leader of the Tories, Mister Harley (Nicholas Hoult), as both Sarah and Abigail form alliances to their advantages.
The reality of two women manipulating a power system designed by and for men is that they must work behind the scenes while letting the men think themselves still in charge. It takes a toll on the female characters, which can be seen by the absence of any Cordelia-like character in this twist on King Lear, since this sort of world has no place for such kindness, as Sarah warns Abigail in an early scene. The cost of navigating such a world comes to a climax when the results of Abigail’s nastiest act are crosscut with a debauched party among the foppish men of the court.
Naturally, sexuality features prominently into the attempts to control and use other people. In a world where the wisest choice is first and foremost staying on your own side, using people as sexual objects to get ahead makes perfect sense. Both Abigail and Sarah exploit the loneliness of Queen Anne through intimacy, compounding their envy. Abigail’s desperate state began because she was sold into an abusive marriage by her drunken father, and she reverses that fate through a second marriage which culminates in an hilariously loveless wedding night.
However, as caustic as the humor is throughout the film, there is real sympathy for all three women and their misfortunes. Queen Anne lost seventeen children, and Olivia Colman achieves incredible pathos in her portrayal of the monarch in the midst of the absurdity of the court. When Sarah is forced to reckon with the consequences of her envy, Rachel Weisz brilliantly depicts an unrepentant woman who has lost the only life she has known. As Emma Stone’s Abigail absorbs the manipulative mentality of the court, she transitions from wishing to better herself to harming others in a way that evokes pity for the other two women who grew up in such an environment.
If anyone is unfamiliar with the British history that forms the basic plot points of the story, the fantastic compiled score hints at the eventual outcome. Didascalies, a minimalist work by Luc Ferrari consisting of only two pitches occurs at two crucial moments, linking the characters who most deserve one another. Messiaen’s La Nativité features prominently whenever Queen Anne makes a decision that changes her relationship with her two ladies in waiting, usually because she believes she is the center of the universe. As a means of suggesting the one character who is gradually falling out of favour, three increasingly ominous organ pieces by J. S. Bach, who is notably different from the other composers, serve as underscoring for significant events affecting her.
There’s a fine line between tragedy and comedy, and The Favourite walks both sides of it, acknowledging the absurdism of the decadent British court and its cruelty while not shying away from the destruction wrought by both.
Personal Recommendation: A
Content advisory: Several sex scenes (mostly out of frame), nudity, harsh obscenities, gruesome aftermath of an injury, animal cruelty, and abusive behavior throughout. MPAA rating: R
Suggested Audience: Adults with discernment
Someone on Twitter quipped (I do not remember who, otherwise I would credit them) that 2017 had a small handful of great films which were better than anything released this year. However, considering films just a small step below that tier, 2018 had a much larger pool to choose from. I found that to be the case myself, with over twenty films I could easily have included in my top ten. This was actually one of the hardest yearend lists I have ever put together, given the lengthy list of very good movies I had to narrow down.
An overused quote by Graham Greene states that films should depict the world both as it is and as it should be. Almost all the films below feature a world broken in one way or another whether by pollution, absent fathers, PTSD from the Iraq War, mental illness, or child abuse. At the same time most of those movies feature some form of beauty and hope, whether it be the bond between a boy and his dog, a girl and her father, or a son singing pop songs with his mom.
I think I made a better effort this year than usual to catch up with as many titles as possible, but some things inevitably slipped through the cracks (Cold War and Blindspotting). If a film is not included, I either didn’t see it or didn’t care for it as much as the thirty-five here.
Good Films Worth Noting (35-21):
A Quiet Place, Black Panther, Jeannette: The Childhood of Joan of Arc, Pope Francis: A Man of His Word, Lean on Pete, Thoroughbreds, The Rider, Minding the Gap, Roma, Shoplifters, Bad Times at the El Royale, The Death of Stalin, Chosen: Custody of the Eyes, 22 July, Shirkers
20. If Beale Street Could Talk (Barry Jenkins) – Jenkins’ third feature film is an adaptation of James Baldwin’s novel of the same title. Alternating between flashbacks of an innocent childhood friendship blossoming into a touching romance and the harsher present day realities of being black in America, Baldwin’s story through Jenkins’ camera is both a witness to injustice and a celebration of love and family.
19. Annihilation (Alex Garland) – Deeply indebted to the films of Andrei Tarkovsky, Garland’s intoxicatingly beautiful sci-fi film about survival and the quest for the perfect organism takes equally awe-inspiring and terrifying turns as its scientist protagonists confront the alien world of the Shimmer.
18. 24 Frames (Abbas Kiarostami) – Kiarostami’s final film, this beautiful recreation of twenty-four paintings and photographs invites reflection on what happens just outside of the frame, asking us to look beyond what we see in front of us and imagine the stories behind each work of art.
17. Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (Morgan Neville) – A love letter to Fred Rogers, a man who saw everyone as his neighbor and used television as a means of living out his Christian faith with as wide an audience as possible.
16. I Am Not a Witch (Rungano Nyoni) – A debut feature from Nyoni, she poignantly captures the injustice spurred by fear and bigotry when a young African girl named Shula is accused of being a witch and forced to live in a state-sanctioned witch camp. A fantastic performance from Maggie Mulubwa as Shula reminds us of the freedom and joy a child should have in life and the tragedy of that being taken away.
15. Can You Ever Forgive Me? (Marielle Heller) – The “true story” of Lee Israel (Melissa McCarthy), a down and out author who takes her agent’s advice to find a new career a little too literally and begins forging letters from deceased celebrities and then selling them to make ends meet. Marielle Heller’s comedy walks the fine line between sympathizing with its unethical protagonists without ever romanticizing or rationalizing their behavior. More pointedly, the film strongly criticizes the greed and superficiality of a society which gives Lee an outlet to use her talents in a criminal way, while acknowledging what a waste of a vocation that is.
14. BlacKkKlansman (Spike Lee) – The second comedic telling of a true story on this list, Ron Stallworth’s (John David Washington) infiltration of the Ku Klux Klan in the ‘70’s provides not only a brutally hilarious mockery of KKK, but a celebration of Stallworth’s victory over one racist segment of society. At the same time, Lee does not let us forget that racism is still alive and well with deep roots in decades of white entertainment that have been subconsciously absorbed for over a century. Drawing powerful parallels to the current climate, the comedic arc of the film reminds us that racism has been overcome before, and with effort can hopefully be overcome again. (full review)
13. Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (Ol Parker) – Quite possibly the biggest surprise of the year, and unquestionably one of the most joyful and fun films of the year, this sequel and prequel to the 2008 musical is not only better than its predecessor but a great standalone film in its own right. My friend Jeffrey Overstreet, in his own top ten write-up, extensively draws from my favorite film of last year, asking what each of his favorite movies loves and pays attention to. The answer for Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again is: families, forgiveness and reconciliation, friendships, babies, mothers, grandmothers, courageous independent women, exposing and ridiculing sexism, Greece, Cher, singing, dancing, and of course, the music of ABBA. (full review)
12. Isle of Dogs (Wes Anderson) – Another labor of love, the meticulous detail and craftsmanship from Wes Anderson reveals a love of canines, Japan, the films of Kurosawa, and haiku. It also shows a love of justice and compassion through its fable-like story about how we treat refugees, the sick, and the outcast. For a film which takes place in a world overrun with pollution, in this stop motion world of Wes Anderson, beauty and goodness abound in more ways than imaginable. A haiku:
We need outcasts to survive.
Green tea and puppies. (full review)
11. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsay, & Rodney Rotham) – The most inventive and enjoyable superhero film since at least The Dark Knight, and possibly The Incredibles, the multi-verse approach to a Spider-man origin story provides kids of all backgrounds with a superhero they can look up to. Focusing primarily on Miles Morales and his journey to become New York’s only Spider-man, the world building introduces some of the most delightful surprises of any film this year, and the animations pop off the screen recreating the effect of watching moving comic book pages. To borrow a quote from another great animated film: not everyone can be Spider-man, but Spider-man can come from anywhere.
The Top Ten
10. The Third Murder (Hirokazu Kore-eda) – After we witness a shocking and brutal murder right as the film opens, it seems like the trial which hangs over most of The Third Murder should be foregone conclusion, especially since this is the culprit’s second murder and he comes across as anything but repentant. However, the truth is far more complicated than it initially appears, as Kore-eda examines the corruption of the Japanese legal system where lawyers care more about an easy explanation than a true one. The title’s meaning isn’t revealed until the film’s end, when it provides a sobering commentary on the destruction of human life, whether it be by a criminal or by the state.
9. The Guardians (Xavier Beauvois) – Like Cuarón’s impressive Roma, The Guardians tells a story of fatherless children in a world torn apart by violence. In this case the violence is WWI, and Beauvois focuses on the ways that life at home away from the front changes as each character does what they believe necessary for survival. That naturally reveals the best of some characters and the worst of others as prejudices are either confirmed or altered. The film’s similarities with Beauvois’ previous feature Of Gods and Men becomes apparent as a more noble path is celebrated by the protagonist’s refusal to return evil for evil, even as the war and its hatred moves closer to her and those she loves.
8. Madeline’s Madeline (Josephine Decker) – One of the most brilliant films of the year, Madeline’s Madeline is an unnerving case of life imitating art imitating life. Madeline (Helena Howard) is a typical rebellious teenager seeking her own identity as she works after school with an experimental acting troupe in NYC. Idolizing her fellow actors and reviling her mom, Madeline is naturally vulnerable to being exploited and lashes out at others while trying to pursue her acting vocation. The film’s hypnotic editing underscores the value Madeline rightly places on her work while simultaneously emphasizing she may not be the best judge of who is looking out for her well being. The film makes the importance of vocation clear, while also showing the dangers of putting anything ahead of people as it reminds us that “creating art” is not an excuse for objectifying human beings.
7. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (Joel & Ethan Coen) – A film that puts the gallows in gallows humor—in one scene quite literally—The Ballad of Buster Scruggs comprises six vignettes on the subject of death in the old West. There’s a logical progression to each of the vignettes, from gunslinger to bank robber to traveling showman to prospector to pioneer to bounty hunter. Moving from outlaws to “more respectable” characters, the Coens make clear the one thing that connects everyone is death, as they satirize Western tropes in delightfully and wickedly funny deconstructions. The subversive storytelling invites us to reflect on the nature of our stories while simultaneously reminding us how those stories originated in the first place.
6. First Reformed (Paul Schrader) – This dark night of the soul story has been the darling of most Christian and secular critics for 2018, and the acclaim is richly deserved. A modernized version of Bergman’s Winter Light, with strong influences from Diary of a Country Priest, The Sacrifice, and Taxi Driver, First Reformed is a challenging examination of a crisis of faith. Ethan Hawke’s Reverend Toller, pastor of a dwindling First Reformed church in upstate New York, pointedly and literally asks, “Can God forgive us,” after being confronted with the catastrophic damage done to the planet by humanmade global warming and the silence of many Christian leaders in response. Despite the scathing critique of a capitalist Church more concerned about prosperity than souls, Schrader is not interested in tolling the death knell for American Christianity, but instead champions the ways which Christian faith can make a difference in the world by standing with the outcast and caring for the least of these, while acknowledging the pain of watching many Christians do the opposite.
5. Paddington 2 (Paul King) – “Paddington looks for the good in all of us, and somehow he finds it!” That line from Mr. Brown summarizes the winsome charm of both the titular bear and this sequel to his 2014 cinematic adventure. This entry improves on the original in every way with its homages to Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, one of the best production numbers of the year, glorious storybook-like production design, and outstanding supporting performances from the entire cast, with especially fabulous work by Hugh Grant. Embodying his Aunt Lucy’s mantra, “If you’re kind and polite, the world will be right,” Paddington celebrates joy and love wherever they’re found, from the care of his adoptive family to touching the souls of hardened criminals.
4. You Were Never Really Here (Lynne Ramsay) – There’s a shot fairly early in You Were Never Really Here when Joe (Joaquin Phoenix), a PTSD Iraq War veteran who now works as an efficient hitman, is worried a kid saw him as he collected his next assignment. After being reassured he’s fine, there’s a shot of the empty doorframe after he leaves. It summarizes both the importance of invisibility in his line of work and his depression telling him it would make no difference in the world if he wasn’t here. A chance to rescue a young girl from a child prostitution ring provides an opportunity for Joe to make the proverbial difference, but depression, trauma, and violence do not wash away that easily, especially in a line of work which feeds upon all three. A sliver of hope is present throughout the film, however, as the relationships between Joe and his mother and the young girl form a contrast to a bleak world.
3. Let the Sunshine In (Claire Denis) – Given my amicable indifference to most of Denis’ past work, my love for this is as surprising to me as anybody. Featuring a phenomenal performance from Juliette Binoche as an artist desperately searching for a meaningful relationship, often with some of the most toxic men she meets, Denis structures a clear progression to the same place where the film began. Functioning almost as an inversion of the traditional romantic comedy arc, the film reveals the shallowness of genre clichés as it gives all the agency to Binoche’s artist as she learns happiness comes from acceptance and not making some grandiose development or progression.
2. The Favourite (Yorgos Lanthimos) – I described this to a friend as King Lear from the perspectives of Goneril and Regan, retold as a vicious dark comedy. That description is overly simplistic, but it underscores the fine line between comedy and tragedy that The Favourite walks so brilliantly. A speculative, yet not implausible, version of events that led to the shift of power in parliament toward the end of Queen Anne’s reign, games of political intrigue have rarely been portrayed as darkly or caustically as the manipulation and backstabbing here. With Olivia Colman as the monarch, and Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone as the ladies competing for her favour, the trio of actresses all give fantastic performances, and the ruthless portrayal of the court’s corruption provides the perfect backdrop to expose the price of vanity and envy. (full review)
1. Leave No Trace (Debra Granik) – The one film that has stayed with me more than anything else I’ve seen this year is this heart-wrenching tale of survival of a father and a daughter living in the Oregon woods as a means of the father coping with his PTSD from serving in the Iraq War. The inevitable conclusion hangs over the entire film, bookended in the first and last shots. Each time the protagonists depart another home, the pain of broken connections and relationships becomes greater and greater until the final separation demonstrates that humans are meant to leave a trace. Completely devoid of villains, the film is anything but an exercise in tragedy, as it instead celebrates the generosity and compassion of people from diverse walks of life who all want to do their best to help, even as it acknowledges the reality that that help is not always possible.